


Her Doe Eyes - A Milippa One-shot

by dolcewrites



Series: Milippa Songfics [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Michael Burnham/Mirror Philippa Georgiou - Freeform, Minor Sexual Content, Mirrorverse, One Shot, Rating E because I'm paranoid, Sexual Content, Songfic, Star Trek Discovery - Freeform, f/f - Freeform, milippa, minor ooc?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolcewrites/pseuds/dolcewrites
Summary: One look at her eyes, and she already knew that she wasn’t her Michael. Her eyes were different, not cold and scheming like a Terran’s, but warm, like melted chocolate.It was the eyes of a doe, soft, meek, scared.What if Philippa saw through the façade Michael had been holding as Captain of the ISS Shenzhou? How would she take advantage of it?





	Her Doe Eyes - A Milippa One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first one-shot, please be nice, but I'd love constructive criticism. 
> 
> I'm writing (eventual) songfics like it's 2010, so here's "It's a Dangerous Game" from Jekyll and Hyde. Michael's lyrics are in _italics_ , and Philippa's are in **bold**.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

When Philippa instructed that Michael is brought to her quarters for dinner, she never actually meant physical dinner, where one sat down and shared a meal. She hated playing Happy Families. No, mealtimes were signs of weaknesses, where anyone would be too absorbed in their own food to pay attention to any threat that lurked around the corner. It was vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford that. Not with Michael.

It wasn’t that anyone of importance would come to realize, anyway. Her Council were all loyal fools, too eager to please and slow to question. Inviting someone over for dinner was a mere veneer, was her inside joke with herself.

Sitting at a spotless table, Philippa thought. She did a lot of that these days, thinking, observing, calculating. What used to be a survival instinct was now a great weapon to her, one that many previous emperors overlooked, bringing with their negligence, rebellion. But she was able to adapt, and stunted that, and she was determined to keep it that way.

So, what was she to do with Michael Burnham?

One look at her eyes, and she already knew that she wasn’t her Michael. Her eyes were different, not cold and scheming like a Terran’s, but warm, like melted chocolate. It was the eyes of a doe, soft, meek, scared. Her acting had been sufficient, but Philippa was an emperor that let nothing slip. Years of experience and betrayals had trained her to always be on guard, sleeping with an eye open and then some, planting secret weapons at every corner of her own ship. 

To her, Michael didn’t even try to hide her identity.

Parallel universes were her best guess. Oh yes, it was possible; she’d analyzed the _USS Defiant_ ’s files inside out. Was she from the same universe, from the Federation? Was she lost, was she sent here on purpose? What was her motive now? What did she want, and how would she get it? And how would Philippa stop her from getting it?

Sighing, she sank into her chair. This Michael Burnham was careful, she predicted the smartest of her collective. No doubt she was hardened by her own trials too, and she was mirroring everything she knew about being Terran, being tough. She kept her defenses well, giving away nothing, leaving her to speculate, to calculate, to guess. Legs taught and apart, powerful, her arms squared, her foot shivering with that same brute force when she brought Lorca to the ground… She may not have fooled Philippa, but she was careful not to tip her off, either. 

But there was some part of her that spoke differently, that was completely open, transparent, the Achilles heel…

Her eyes, her eyes. 

Yes, that was it. Philippa sat straight up, a small smile coming to her face, lacing her fingers with one another. It had been so easy. 

Their bond, it seemed, was strong enough to cross universes.

The sound of boots striking the floor didn’t even jumpstart Philippa. Michael Burnham came in, her breastplate catching the dim lights that filtered into her quarters, looking like a warrior prepared for battle.

If she wanted to play the long haul, Philippa was all for it. After all, they had all night, and she would milk every single second of it. “Michael, welcome,” she smiled, gesturing towards an empty seat. “Sit.” 

Her eyes, those quiet doe eyes, hardened, tensing up at every syllable the Terran emperor uttered. Still, she complied, perfectly in character of Captain Burnham. Privately, Philippa found her weak façade adorable. 

Like a falcon eyeing its prey, Philippa prowled around the table, making sure to make her movements painfully slow, lengthening every step. She let the energy pulsate through her legs, ripple through her broad shoulders, letting her shoes send echoes down the expansive room. It was almost like a dance, as she entranced, and she was sure to make it slow, sensual, almost. Watching Michael’s silhouette, stretched on the table, she knew it worked. Her shoulders hung differently from her -- what used to be tensed with apprehension now trembled with a kind of raw energy, though she was careful to control it, blockading the currents of feeling with a dam of logic. 

_Damn_ , thought Philippa. 

Still, she circled, ensuring that she was within Michael’s sight at all times, stretching her height out as she went on captivating, capturing, luring her to attention, until she was sucked in, and a battle would start to boil within her. Then, Philippa would ease her way into Michael Burnham, and anything she wanted, Michael would give.

But first, she had to bribe her with some bait. She chuckled, knowing that this interrogation would be one to remember.

“What are you doing, Philippa?” Michael whispered finally, bringing her eyes to meet hers. Oh, they were too gentle, too cautious. Philippa could melt for those eyes, but she had a task to perform. Melting, she told herself patiently, would come later, if she hadn’t burned to death yet.

“Michael Burnham, who are you?” She stretched the words out, carefully enunciating every syllable, making sure it fully penetrated her. 

“I am the captain who has served under your… mighty leadership of many years –“

“Oh really?” Philippa raised an eyebrow, still making her rounds, closing in still. “It didn’t take me a second glance to know that you have never been one of us. How did you get here? I may never know.”

Stunned. Scared, even, Michael Burnham’s posture changed again, hunching ever so slightly, that only an eagle’s eye would catch it. Her breathing hitched, her chest rising and falling unevenly now. She was calculating a plan to leave, a plan to fight or charm her way out of Philippa’s grasp. 

They both knew it wouldn’t work.

“I could turn a blind eye and let you play around with my ships. But look at how soft you are,” Philippa continued, spitting on the word _soft_. “It wouldn’t be long until some of my more observant generals start asking questions. What of that, then? They can’t know the technology that brought you here now, can they? That would bring about some problems, don’t you think?”

Philippa was growing restless, impatient, and she was growing harder to control. Michael Burnham, she concluded, was both horribly wrong and absolutely perfect for the Terran armor. The way she tried to wear it was horrible – her shoulders were too stiff for movement, her back arched too tight in an attempt to stand straight, to look Terran. But when a creature of benevolent nature, and so, so kind, steps into the embodiment of what it is to be cruel, it was perfect. She looked too scared, too helpless, pining, cowering, and Philippa felt a growing protection for this celestial spirit. She was heavenly, almost, soaring above the wrecks of sin and corruption that shaped her universe, and in a world where all tried to mirror the great, Philippa found herself comforted in this… lamb’s presence.

One look in her eyes and she betrayed everything she ever knew. Oh, foolish, helpless Michael.

“I could throw you in the agonisers, but that would be boring,” Philippa said, trying to keep her voice to the same lull, only to find herself succumbing to raw power, all calculations and speculations gone. “Perhaps…”

Reaching out, Philippa hooked a finger under Michael’s chin, tilting it so that their eyes met. The poor girl didn’t even try to avert her gaze. 

“You and I can have a little fun.”

The way her demeanor changed, her body, pressing against the chair in fearful awe, told Philippa everything she needed to know. The last of her rationality thrown aside, she regarded Michael Burnham in a new light, not as a threat, but as… a passion. 

“I’ll tell you a secret, Michael. I’ve developed very particular feelings for your counterpart here in my world. And from your eyes, I can tell that you feel the same about your Philippa.” 

Her voice came out rushed, the rest of her body willing her to talk less, act more, to shut out the diplomat in her, and release the gates to a wild monster, a monster ready to blossom and consume her. 

From her pocket, Michael pulled out a battered insignia badge, crafted in the typical delta of the Federation. Somewhere in the back of her head, Philippa made it a point to remember that she was from the same universe as the _Defiant_.

Not that the information would help her anyhow now.

“My Philippa is dead,” Michael hissed, holding the golden piece firmly between her thumb and index fingers, hoisting it right in front of Philippa’s nose. She scoffed, plucking a badge from the left of her breastplate. “As is my Michael,” Philippa growled, showing her the badge that she regretted every day, the small part of her that wasn’t thinking, the part that grieved solely for Michael in her homeworld. 

“Maybe we can forget all that for tonight,” Philippa urged, plucking her badge from her hands and setting both of them aside. “You need me, Michael. I need you. Perhaps we can provide each other… the company of a grieving friend.”

She was vulnerable now, the sacred doe that sat in front of her. By some sort of rare negligence, as was Philippa.

Reaching out a hand, she slowly undid Michael’s breastplate, letting it clatter to the ground. _Show me your real self, Michael of another world._

By the gods, nothing could have prepared her when Michael _sang_. 

_“I feel your fingers_  
_Cold on my shoulder_  
_Your chilling touch_  
_As it runs down my spine…”_

She worked on, allowing her war-callused fingers undo her layers of leather, discarding them to the side, peeling them off her with a desperation she could never dare admit, until she was kneeling down to ease the articles of clothing off the seated figure.

_“Watching your eyes_  
_As they invade my soul_  
_Forbidden pleasures_  
_I’m afraid to make mine.”_

She bought her doe eyes to Philippa’s, which was growing less Terran, and more primal. The look could have undone her altogether, if Michael hadn’t taken her hands and removed the armor off of Philippa herself.

 _“At the touch of your hand,  
At the sound of your voice,”_ she continued, her voice quivering in matched desperation now, unzipping and unbuttoning everything between her and Philippa’s body. In the same fashion, Philippa served her, hefting off her boots, bracelets, anything that was Terran, or was Starfleet, whatever. 

_“At the moment your eyes meet mine,_  
_I am out of my mind, I am out of control,_  
_Full of feelings I can’t define.”_ Michael was vulnerable now, spewing everything that came to her mind, and some way or other Philippa felt it, watching her stripped down to her corset. The way she breathed, the way her doe eyes dissolved into something more greedy, needier – it was for her, and her alone, because Michael Burnham, she figured as her sweet clumsy hands brought her to the same nakedness, had never been in love before. 

Both now in their underclothes, they paused, Philippa reaching out a hand to stroke the heavenly being, letting her hands trail from her belly to her thighs, purposefully avoiding her most sensitive parts, leaving the best for last. **“It’s a sin with no name…”**

_“Like a hand in a flame…”_

**_“And my senses proclaim it’s a dangerous game!”_ **

Breathless, Philippa stood, and the other woman followed suit, ready to follow where she led. Lovingly, she nudged her onto the table, laying her down completely over the stretch of the spotless surface, and she climbed up after her, allowing herself, gods forbid, to climb on top of her. With her knees, she eased Michael’s legs apart, pinning her in place. With a small gasp, she struggled to sit up, but Philippa pushed her back with an easy hand, planting a small, quick kiss on her lips, the first of the night. “Patience…” she trailed, letting her fingers dance over her exposed collarbones, her neck, like she was petting a trained lion, almost, tamed to be sweet, but bubbling with magnificent power underneath. It thrilled her, and it drove her, warming the pit in her belly, straining with need.

**“A darker dream  
** **That has no ending**  
**That’s so unreal**  
**You believe it’s true!”**

Her eyes flashed now, flicking a tongue over her lips as she grasped Michael by her fragile shoulders, pining, anticipating for more, more. She cupped one hand behind her head as her other roamed across her body, squeezing, kneading, needing, her hips rocking ever so slightly against her, finding her warm as she was, waiting, waiting for Philippa. 

**“A dance of death  
** **Out of a mystery tale  
** **The frightened princess doesn’t know what to do!”**

Philippa’s voice rose now, taking over Michael, and she watched as she began to cry, her emotions spilling over her bare body, all but unclothed. Hastily, hungrily, Philippa dipped her head to her lips, ravishing its fullness, as she thrust her tongue into her mouth, feeling it deliciously tangle.

**“Will the ghosts go away?”**

_“No!“_ Michael whimpered, wondering how Philippa sing, hell, wondering how she could sing, while doing such sinful things to her with her tongue. 

**“Will she will them to stay?”**

_“No!”_

**“Either way, there’s no way to win!”**

_“All I know is I’m lost, and I’m counting the cost –“_ Michael sobbed against her forceful lips, unwinding months of loss, months of grieve. Yes, give it to me, my love, let me share your burdens, thought Philippa, as she drew back, letting her ethereal jewel breathe.

 **“Your emotions are in a spin…”** she warned, not breaking eye contact as they stared at each other, breathless, wondering if it was possibly true, if old wounds could be healed with new people, people so familiar yet too drastically different to ever fit perfectly.

 _“I don’t know who to blame…”_ Michael pleaded as Philippa dipped down, unzipping her corset, her final piece of clothing, and took it off her in haste, before leaning down and nuzzling her neck, sucking and kissing at the same time. **“It’s a crime and a shame…”** The music vibrated against Michael’s dark skin as her fingers quickly undid Philippa’s own garment, leaving them both naked as the day they were born. 

_“But it’s true all the same…”_ Without thinking, Michael stretched out her own hand, putting it to Philippa’s cheek, pulling her in for a kiss.

Both of them discarded everything they knew, everything they learnt, and everything they were taught, leaving two humans, simple, primal, desperate for love and finding love, forgoing duty just for the night, not minding if phasers and daggers were pointed to exposed necks, because without the other, they were good as dead. They were locked in traps of each other, with no way to escape, no way to detatch, and they could only love, love in this little paradise where the cruel fabrics of the earth stitched Heaven and Hell together, in a tapestry that made little sense, other than lust, longing, and love.

**_“It’s a dangerous game!”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking to the end of my first-ever work! If you liked it, hated it, want a second chapter, want me to delete this, please, do drop a comment, I'd love to improve on my writing.


End file.
